


Lune de miel

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Awkward Sexual Situations, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Masturbation, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overcome with, shall we say, emotions during his own wedding feast, Marius needs a moment to himself. As it turns out, he is not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lune de miel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt: "Third party POV on hot Valjean/Javert sex." Yep.
> 
> Since this is AU anyway, let's just assume Valjean's confession to Marius and all of the fix-it stuff happens before the Marius/Cosette wedding. Also, I decided that some of the Amis would survive the barricade, because why not?

Marius was the happiest man on Earth, his bride the most radiant being in the Universe, and the wedding feast most sumptuous. The house was filled with a large number of guests -- including those of his dear friends who had survived the insurrection, though he still grieved for each one that had not -- and there was much eating, drinking, dancing, and general rejoicing to be had. Marius relished it all, Cosette at his side, and if his eyes kept straying to her glowing cheeks, or indeed to the soft swell of her bosom, and if his thoughts strayed further still, towards the night ahead -- well then, surely no one could blame him, as he was filled with all the love and impatience of youth, and they had been waiting for this so long.

At one point, however, Cosette's constant glances in his direction and the press of her gentle hand on his became too much for his body to resist: his blood quickened, his cheeks flushed, he would very much like for the feast to be over soon, no matter how much he enjoyed it, and yet it was only late afternoon still; it would go on for hours yet. Squirming on his chair, acutely aware of Cosette's presence at his side, he knew he must take care of the situation somehow -- and if he could not will his body to cool down, then the inevitable solution was to give in to its urges. Excusing himself, and pressing a tender kiss to his new wife's hand, he slipped away as quietly as he could.

Upstairs, he felt himself drawn to the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway. He and Cosette would be sleeping there tonight. Surely no one would visit the room before that; and after all, what better place to take care of himself while indulging in the thoughts of his bride? Marius went inside and shut the door quickly, shoving an eager hand down his trousers as soon as he was out of sight. Biting his lip, he sat down on the edge of the bed -- the same bed he would share with Cosette later that night, his mind helpfully reminded him -- and started stroking himself with a whimper of relief.

Fate seemed determined to make things difficult for him, however, for no more than half a minute could have passed before he heard voices in the hallway, as well as footsteps -- footsteps that were approaching the master bedroom, the door to which, he realised to his horror, he had forgotten to bolt. He jumped off the bed to do so, but it was too late; the footsteps were now close to the door -- from the sound of it there were at least two persons walking with some haste -- and the door was on the other side of the room, whilst Marius, panicked and dishevelled and with his trousers still about his knees, was cornered between the large bed and the wardrobe.

The wardrobe. The wardrobe! He stumbled towards it, tore it open, and threw himself inside at the same time as the door to the master bedroom opened. Marius pulled the wardrobe door shut as quickly as he could, though he did not dare close it entirely for fear of making noise. It therefore remained a small gap between which he could distinctively hear... noises.

The noises were not completely unfamiliar to him; in fact, they reminded him of the times when Courfeyrac had brought a companion home and he had been forced to listen to their exploits through the wall. Marius might not have much experience himself, but he recognised the sound of enthusiastic kissing, accompanied by moans and gasps, when he heard it. Whoever the newcomers, they had obviously decided to sneak away and come here to engage in their sordid game. 

He gritted his teeth. If Courfeyrac had brought some servant in here to defile Marius's wedding bed -- and to interrupt Marius's attempts at resolving his own difficult situation, no less -- then there would be repercussions. If Marius had not still been embarrassingly hard, with his trousers about his knees, he would have flung open the door to confront the invaders right away.

He was just starting to consider doing it anyway -- if Courfeyrac was indeed the culprit, he could handle it, and so could probably whoever was with him -- when the noises stopped for a moment, only for a familiar voice to choke out, "For Heaven's sake, this is not a good idea."

Marius froze in horror. If he was lucky, this was just a dream. 

"Oh no?" -- and, dear God, that was the Inspector's voice, sounding positively... leering. There was no other word for it. "I have the impression your body disagrees."

Monsieur Valjean let out a loud moan that made Marius's cheeks grow hot. "God, when you touch me like that... Here, of all places! Can you imagine what would happen if we were caught?"

"But nobody will catch us," the Inspector said, his voice smooth and coaxing. "They are all busy drinking themselves senseless downstairs, celebrating your daughter and that foolish boy."

"Marius is a good lad," Monsieur Valjean said at once, and Marius felt oddly grateful. "As soon as he found out the truth, he didn't know what good he could possibly do for me -- ahh! Do that again!"

"The truth, yes," Inspector Javert repeated, apparently doing again whatever he had been doing, for Monsieur Valjean let out another moan. "Which _you_ had been planning to hide from him, if I remember correctly, until I took matters into my own hands. As I'm doing now." There was a low, breathless chuckle. "Oh, do not try to make a martyr of us both. If we abstain from this now, the rest of the evening will be positively painful, and I shall not be responsible for the consequences."

Too true, Marius bitterly thought to himself. Was it not for similar reasons he had retreated here? And here he was, stuck in a wardrobe, his needs unfulfilled, while they had shamelessly invaded _his_ bedroom for their own purposes. It was horribly unfair, he thought petulantly. Not that he begrudged Monsieur Valjean his happiness -- he was not that much of an ingrate! -- and while he had thought his father-in-law and the Inspector mere companions at first, he had been harbouring some suspicions for a while as to the full extent of their relationship. (Being friends with Courfeyrac, who no more shied away from the company of men than he did that of women, Marius had indeed learned a lot about the world by now.) He wished them well, but he had no particular desire to be a witness to whatever they were about to engage in. Why, oh why, could they not have picked another room instead?

"You are horrible," Monsieur Valjean was saying -- or rather, gasping. "Your hand on me -- under the table during dinner! What do you think they would have said, if they found out?"

"But nobody did find out, did they?" the Inspector sniggered. There was some rustling, like that of clothing being pushed out of the way. "We will do this, and nobody will ever know."

Well, if only that were true! Marius bit his lip, noting to his dismay that he was still hard. If he would have to wait until they were done with... whatever they were about to do... before he could take care of himself -- God, that did not bear thinking about. He carefully slid a hand down to touch himself, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the room.

This, unfortunately, proved an impossible endeavour, as Inspector Javert's long, loud groan mercilessly found its way to Marius's ears. "Mmmmh, yes, that's it... You can pretend it's our wedding, if you wish." There was laughter in his voice -- a bizarre laughter, but laughter nonetheless. "You would like that, wouldn't you? Having me in a dress, pushing up my skirts, watching me blush on a pristine bed..."

"You are ridiculous, Javert," Monsieur Valjean groaned, but he sounded more aroused than embarrassed. Marius wished the wardrobe would swallow him. "Hurry up, then, so that we may get back downstairs before anyone..."

There was the sound of stumbling footsteps, and then suddenly -- dear God, they were moving into his view! Marius retreated, heart beating wildly, hoping they would not look at the wardrobe. His cursed cock was still hard -- not that it mattered; he would not get away until they were done, not without making the situation much worse than it already was. He prayed that they would, indeed, hurry up.

He wanted to close his eyes, but found that he could not: instead, he was staring through the gap, as Inspector Javert, trousers open and cheeks flushed, sat down on the bed -- Marius's wedding bed! -- and spread his legs invitingly. There was a look on his face Marius had never seen before, and which he hoped he would never have occasion to see again: the look of pure, hungry lust. "Come then," he said, looking up at Monsieur Valjean, who was standing in front of him, looking no less lustful but also tormented. "What are you waiting for?"

"Javert," said Marius's father-in-law hesitantly, "I believe... I wonder if this might not be their wedding bed. I really can't..." He gestured helplessly. "The mere thought disturbs me."

Again, Marius felt grateful. At least the bed would remain intact for himself and Cosette later. If now they would just button up their trousers and find themselves another room...

"Fair enough," said Inspector Javert, rising to his feet so that he and Monsieur Valjean were standing directly in front of Marius. Their arms went about one another, their mouths met, and -- Marius really should look away. He could not. "We do not need a bed, do we? There is a perfectly sturdy wall right here."

To Marius's infinite disappointment and mounting desperation, he simply turned to face the wall, still in plain view from the wardrobe, and flashed a grin towards Monsieur Valjean. "You know what to do."

"Javert," said Monsieur Valjean breathlessly. "We do not have any sort of..." He motioned with his hand again, and Marius frowned in confusion. "Nothing but our mouths," he clarified, and Marius drew a sharp breath as he realised the meaning, his treacherous cock twitching.

"I would not mind," Inspector Javert grumbled. "But fine, fine." Marius saw him cast about with his eyes until they landed on something in a far corner. "Isn't that a jar of perfume oil over there on the dressing table? Surely that will do."

Monsieur Valjean disappeared from view. Meanwhile, Inspector Javert pulled down his trousers and braced his arms against the wall, so that Marius now had a clear view towards his naked backside -- and, Lord, they were really going to do _that_ in front of him, weren't they? He bit his lower lip to stifle a moan.

Monsieur Valjean reappeared with a jar in hand, pulling down his own trousers with a deft motion. "We are going to smell of roses," he muttered as he put a finger into the jar. "Hopefully there will be no questions."

"Amidst that crowd down there, nobody will notice," Inspector Javert snorted, spreading his legs and tilting his hips as Monsieur Valjean's fingers moved between his buttocks and... Marius had to blink. "They're all more perfumed than Marie Antoinette herself. At last the damn stuff comes in handy... Mmm, yes, like that!"

Marius felt faint. He watched in helpless fascination as Monsieur Valjean moved his hand, as Inspector Javert thrust back against it. Could that really feel good? He would have to ask Courfeyrac. Or perhaps not. His hand was still holding his cock, stroking it as much as he dared. It was a natural response, he reminded himself: he had been aroused earlier and had been interrupted before he could find his release. It had nothing to do with the sight in front of him. Nothing at all.

Monsieur Valjean pulled out his hand, and the Inspector groaned with impatience. At least, with both of them turned to the wall like that, there was no chance they would be looking towards the wardrobe, so Marius relaxed a little. Surely it would be over soon, he thought, starting to move his hand in earnest. Surely they would be gone, and his body would be sated, and he could slip back to the feast and find his Cosette again and pretend this never had happened.

His relief was short-lived, for suddenly Monsieur Valjean seized Inspector Javert by the hips and turned him around so that his back was to the wall. "Get your trousers off," he said, his voice so raw with desire it made Marius feel short of breath. Inspector Javert kicked off his trousers with a grin, as if he knew what was coming, and spread his legs again. Monsieur Valjean's hands moved to Inspector Javert's thighs -- Marius found himself straining to see what was going on -- and then there were two mingling groans; the Inspector's eyes fell shut in bliss. One of his legs hitched around Monsieur Valjean's thighs. "Lift me," he said.

Marius stared as Monsieur Valjean did just that -- as the Inspector's long legs wrapped around his waist, as Monsieur Valjean's large hands went to the Inspector's buttocks, holding him up. The sight was captivating. Of course his father-in-law's strength was impressive -- he had carried Marius for hours through the sewers of Paris, after all -- but the Inspector was no small man, and the way Monsieur Valjean was now thrusting into him, while supporting the weight of both of them, could not be described as anything but powerful. Marius's hand, now working on its own accord, seemed to mimic the rhythm. In a flash he pictured himself holding Cosette that way -- pictured her legs about his waist, her arms about his shoulders, her mouth open and her eyes closed in ecstasy the way the Inspector's now were -- and he had to bite back a moan. Dear God!

"Faster," Inspector Javert gasped. "Harder, faster, yes, God, please, Jean --"

"Yes," Monsieur Valjean gasped in turn. "Yes, yes, yes... God, Javert, you are so good! Oh God, the way you feel around me..."

Would Cosette talk to him that way? Would he be able to say such things to Cosette? The thought made him giddy. His hand worked furiously. 

Inspector Javert suddenly opened his eyes, directly facing Marius through the gap in the wardrobe, and Marius started backwards, his heart hammering violently. The Inspector did not react, however; even from here, Marius could see his eyes were glazed over. "Almost there," he groaned. "Almost there, Jean, I'm going to..."

Monsieur Valjean froze, his whole body going tense. "The shirts," he choked. "Not on the shirts!"

"Oh, for --" Inspector Javert let out something that sounded like a growl of frustration. "Very well, wait a second...." 

They stilled for a moment as one of Inspector Javert's hands came down to fumble with Monsieur Valjean's pocket and pull out a handkerchief similar to the one Marius had found, months ago. The handkerchief disappeared from sight as Inspector Javert worked his hand between their bodies. "This will take care of it, I believe... Now, start moving again, or I shall get mad!"

Marius found himself agreeing with the latter part. He was so close now, his head spinning from arousal and embarrassment and impatience, and suddenly it struck him that he, too, was in the danger of spilling on his shirt -- quickly he made sure it was safely tucked out of the way. His handkerchief was somewhere in his pocket, but if he started searching for it he might stumble and fall out of his hiding place, which would be the worst thing that could happen, far worse than staining the walls or the door of the wardrobe. 

At least he would not stain his shirt, he thought dizzily as the thrusts and moans resumed from the opposite wall and his own hand tugged him still closer to completion. At least he would be able to go downstairs and pretend that nothing had happened, like his father-in-law and the Inspector would pretend nothing had happened. They would all go downstairs and pretend not to have done anything, and if anyone suspected...

Oh, dear Lord! he suddenly thought wildly. What if anyone suspected -- what if anyone thought that he -- that he and they -- that the three of them had -- 

"God, yes!" Inspector Javert cried, throwing his head back, and Monsieur Valjean made a loud noise in turn, burying his face in the Inspector's neck, his strong body trembling.

Mortified, Marius came, covering his mouth with his free hand, spilling into the other, desperately hoping nothing would get on the trousers still bundled around his knees, desperately hoping the pair outside had not heard his stifled moan. Judging from how they were slumped against the wall, eyes closed and arms around each other -- the Inspector's legs still around Monsieur Valjean's waist -- they had not, and he allowed himself to take a deep breath, shutting his eyes. 

When he opened them again, Monsieur Valjean and Inspector Javert were both on their feet, tugging on their trousers and smoothing down their clothes with motions that were not quite quick enough for Marius's liking. Their cheeks were red; they kept stealing glances at each other and smiling. "We really are quite depraved," the Inspector said.

Monsieur Valjean put his hands around his face and kissed him. Marius's chest tightened strangely at the gesture; it was so tender, so intimate, as was the look in Monsieur Valjean's eyes. "Quite," he agreed.

"Let's go downstairs." Inspector Javert took his hands between his own and kissed them. "Your daughter is bound to be missing you."

"I doubt it -- she has her husband to keep her company," Monsieur Valjean laughed. Marius squirmed guiltily. "Nevertheless, you are right. We should join them." He suddenly looked flustered. "I really hope they won't suspect anything. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?"

"They are far too innocent," said Inspector Javert with certainty. "Some of his friends, on the other hand... But they wouldn't think to look." He pulled Monsieur Valjean into another kiss, then released him. "Let's go."

When the door fell shut behind them, leaving the room in blessed silence, Marius opened the wardrobe, held up his trousers with one hand (he would make sure to wipe away all traces of his orgasm now that he could see properly) and hurried over to turn the lock. Then he stumbled over to the bed and sank down, his mind reeling with the events of the last -- how much time had passed? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It had seemed like an eternity. 

He located his handkerchief and cleaned himself. There might be traces of his adventure inside the wardrobe, but there was little to be done about that. He would let the servants take care of it tomorrow; hopefully they would think it the result of some bizarre game played by the newlyweds, and hopefully any gossip about it wouldn't reach Cosette's ears. 

Having tucked himself away and straightened his clothing, Marius got to his feet. His eyes strayed involuntarily to the wall opposite the wardrobe, and he felt himself blush again. It would be difficult to look either his father-in-law or the Inspector in the eye now -- though he found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was not disturbed by what he had witnessed, at least not more than he would have been had either of the two been a woman. The way they had looked at each other afterwards... Marius might be young, and his love was that of a young man, fresh and as yet untried, but he knew that if he and Cosette were graced with many years together -- and he wished for nothing more -- then they would look at each other like that, full of love and trust, and count themselves blessed.

Before Marius left, his eyes fell upon the small jar of perfume oil which had been forgotten on the nightstand. He contemplated returning it to the dressing table, but then thought better of it. After all, he reasoned, shutting the door gently behind him, there was still a wedding night ahead of him. And you never knew. Surely even the innocent could prove themselves depraved.


End file.
